Nightmare
by Obi the Kid
Summary: Niko POV. Takes place 3 months or so after 'Deathwish'. Niko is still reliving the nightmare of Cal’s death.


**Title**: Nightmare

**Author****:** Obi the Kid

**Rating****:** (T)PG

**Summary****:** Niko POV. Takes place 3 months or so after Deathwish. Niko is still reliving the nightmare of Cal's death.

**Disclaimer****:** The characters of Cal, Niko and Promise belong to Rob Thurman. I make no money from the writing or distribution of this story.

~*~

It's routine now. An internal alarm clock that demands that I get up, walk to my brother's bedroom, open the door and stand there. Watching. Looking for the rise and fall of his chest. The twitch of his hand. The sleepy jerk of a leg as it dangles from the sheets.

The light from the hall is enough to show me what I need to know. That he is there, alive. Not bloody. Not torn to pieces. But breathing and safe in his bed. Not safe from the dreams that have haunted him since Tumulus, but safe from my nightmare. The nightmare I was forced to see. The nightmare I had made to believe was real.

It wasn't real of course. Just a game that an enemy had played on my psyche. It had played on the only true chink in my armor. My little brother. Cal.

It was months ago that it happened. Three months, twelve days to be exact. And still I relive the scene in my head every single night.

Cal, lying cold on our apartment floor, all but in pieces. Blood soaked. Gray eyes half open in death. It was so damn real. I lived it. I know I did.

I went on a killing rampage after finding his body in pieces. Destroying all that I thought responsible until Oshossi wrapped the real truth around my neck and directed me to the one who had taken advantage of us all. We had risked our lives to help Cherish. I put my brother's life on the line to help her. And she played us like a violin.

Her solo had been short-lived however. Cherish died by my hand not long after the nightmare images of Cal's death first played out in my mind. I held no guilt or remorse for Cherish after she had used Cal's death to spur me to her aid her own cause. She deserved to rot in hell. And I hope she did.

I try not to think of her, because if I do, I think of Promise and all I may have lost in separating myself from my love while I dealt with the aftermath of seeing my brother mutilated on our floor. I pulled away from Promise in order to deal with my demons. When I saw Promise, I saw Cherish. And when I saw Cherish, I saw my brother dead. It wasn't fair to Promise to continue as we were. As difficult a decision as it was for me to walk away from her, it was also one of the easiest decisions I'd ever had to make.

I needed time. For me. For Cal. For us. It had to be just us for a time or I might lose everything.

All my life, it was Cal and me. No others. Sophia had never given a crap about either of us, except to satisfy her need for money and alcohol by tricking herself out to the Auphe or extorting money from me so that I could keep Cal under my protection as I aged into my teenage years. Promise had come along when we claimed New York as our home. She was a key to a job at first. She soon became much more. But I'd made it known where my first loyalties would always be. Cal would always come first, no matter the circumstance. His safety and well-being were my priority. She'd come to accept that and more importantly, understand it. So when I had to let her go, she offered no challenge. When – if – the time was right, I would see her again. For a time though, it had to be only me and my brother. Again. And for however long it took.

I know Cal was frustrated for me, but he'd hidden it well recently. He did his best with me during the initial stages of my unofficial breakdown. Truthfully, it wasn't a breakdown like those that normal people suffer. It was much more private than that. But Cal saw things in me that others wouldn't have blinked at. The slightest of changes that even I didn't see. It didn't take him long to realize that the dreams were nightly and that my first seconds of consciousness in the morning were grotesque and brutal images of his death. I woke each morning from broken sleep thinking – _knowing_ – that he was dead.

The Polaroid photo he'd taped to my headboard – Cal as a child, jumping up and down on Santa's crotch because Santa never brought his big brother Niko any presents – helped to a degree. Sometimes I'd see the snapshot in my mind before I woke, and my entry into consciousness was less distressing. At the very least, once I woke, I would see the photo and remember that this was all in my head. It wasn't real. Cal was alive. Hell, I even gave in from time to time and made him his waffles. Not very often, mind you, because I never like to encourage the laziness that he excels in, but some mornings, I did. If for no other reason than to silently thank him for helping me work through this at my own pace, without pressure and without nagging on his part for me being a little overprotective at times.

Yes, I've spent some evenings – more than a few - camped outside the Ninth Circle as he works his shift. I can't see much through the tiny windows, but I'm there. Close by. He knows it even if he never sees me. It's as much for me as for him. And he's never said a word, for which I am grateful.

Still, these many months after the triggering event, it's exhausting. I continue to work both our asses off and I can still spar his into the ground. But he's gotten the better of me more often than before. My lack of concentration has been evident at times. No one else would have noticed. Cal knows me inside and out. I appreciated that he called me out on it too. I _could_ afford a letdown in his presence. I _could not_ afford a letdown when it was our asses and lives on the line.

For these months, our roles have been slightly reversed. He's been _my_ protector for a time. Looking after me in his strangely skewered way. Giving back to me all that he feels I've given up for him.

He's still lazy as hell. A slob. Eats food that could kill most of the supernatural world on grease content alone. Sarcastic. Annoying. Whiny. And he drives me up the wall more often than not. But that's Cal.

I've needed to see all those shining qualities in him these recent months. It's let me know that he remains alive and well. Only a healthy and safe Cal can irritate the hell out of me day after day, making me want to strangle him one minute and worry about his safety the next.

How much longer these terrorizing nights will last, I don't know. I suppose it's a testament to how deeply we are bonded that the images are still so real and prevalent months later. But if this is what it takes to continue to protect my little brother, so be it. He's been my responsibility since he was born. The instinct to protect him is woven into me. It cannot be undone. And if the time comes when the nightmare is truly real and Cal's death does come before mine, I will follow him into it.

This morning I woke up less distraught than the previous day, but I'd felt him standing in my doorway this time. Roles reversed again. I felt the sweat on my chest and forehead. Cal tossed me a dry towel. I mumbled thanks before stretching and pulling myself out of bed. I felt sluggish, although again, most would not have noticed. Cal did, but remained silent about it. I flipped a tee shirt over my head, popped my head through the top to find Cal still staring at me. Only his eyes showed any expression. Intense concern. I walked towards him. He pushed a hand into my chest and I stopped in front of where he stood.

"Cal."

"Nik."

"We know each other's names, little brother. What's going on?"

"Just making sure you're okay. Rough night last night."

"I don't remember much of it. Same dream as every other night I suppose."

Cal shook his head. "More violent. More...emotional."

I nodded, knowing the meaning behind his words. I'd been crying in my sleep. Crying for my lost, dead brother. It happened only rarely, but it did happen.

I let out a deep breath. "Some nights are worse than others, it seems."

"I sat with you for a while, until the worst of it passed. To pass the time, I tried to read one of your giant demon spawn books about monsters that try to eat people when they sleep, but I couldn't get through the first chapter. So, you can't get on me for not trying to learn this crap. It's not my fault that it's written in such a way that would make people run _into_ fires, rather than away from them. It's hell, Nik. Simple, pure, boring hell. Sorry."

I snorted a desperately needed laugh. It felt good. Leaning forward, I briefly touched my forehead to his. He was real. But my action worried him even more, and it resonated in his voice.

"Nik?"

I pulled away. "I'm all right. Just relieved that the nightmares that feel so real prove to be untrue over and over."

We walked to the kitchen. Cal put a plate in front of me. It had a brown mass of syrupy something on it with globs of what appeared to be lard. I cringed.

"It's not what you think, Nik. _Organic_ waffles. Yum. And they are, ah, oh, sugar-free, gluten-free, fat-free, and I guess that means taste-free too. Hence the extra dose of syrup and butter. I even ate a few myself." I glared at him. "I didn't say I liked the damn things. Only that I ate them. Jesus. Can't a guy make breakfast for his big brother without getting the third degree?"

"I didn't say a word, Cal."

"No, but you were thinking it. I know that anal mind of yours."

"And this anal mind refuses to eat this heart attack platter that you put on my plate."

"I ate it. Do you see me keeling over dead?"

I saw it in his eyes the minute he said the word. _Dead_. It hadn't meant anything other than a joke, and it didn't bother me, but it hurt him to have said it, even in jest.

"Sorry, Nik. I didn't mean – I shouldn't joke about that. I know what you're going through at night, and I've been there. Hell, I'm there most of the time. It's not easy and it's not fun. I'm sorry."

"Cal, stop. It's okay. It's just a word. We can't go around avoiding every word that terrorizes our dreams. We'd never have anything to say. Just...thank you for breakfast. You meant well, even if you were trying to kill me in the process."

He smirked and followed the expression with a deep sigh. Unusual for him. I knew then that he was as troubled with my night terrors as I was. Unfortunately there was nothing either of us could do. The best medicine was time. Time and patience.

"You want some sugar puffs instead?"

I stared at him. "I'll let you guess the answer to that one. Better yet, let's go out for breakfast. I know this great veggie omelet joint that..."

"Come on, Nik! _Veggie_ omelets. Really?"

"If you'd let me finish, smart ass, I could tell you what else they have. On special request, they will make an omelet for those meat eaters among us. Sausage. Pepperoni. Ham. Salami. Corned beef. All smothered in the most non-heart healthy cheese sauce you can imagine." Cal drooled. "Piled next to a stack of grease fried potatoes that only an annoying, sarcastic, pain in the ass, little brother could love. My treat."

"You're serious?"

I glared at him again.

"Stupid question on my part. Okay then. Let's go."

I quickly got myself in order, wiped the sleep off my face, tossed a couple blades under my jacket and met Cal at the front door. I gave a playful yank of his pony tail. His black hair had gotten long. Something he'd done on my account. The picture I had of him, dead - in my nightmares - had his hair several inches shorter. This was his subtle way of trying to change his appearance just enough so that each time I saw him, I didn't see the bloody and shredded version. I didn't think it helped much, but I appreciated the thought. It meant more than he could ever know.

My nightmare forgotten for the day, we headed out for breakfast. It was the best morning we'd had in a long time. The sun was shining. There was no sign of monsters. No one nearby was trying to kill or eat us.

I had my brother alive and well at my side.

And for now, nothing else mattered.

END


End file.
